Symphonies
by thecanadian13
Summary: Out of Sherlock's logical control, he fantasies about Molly in his mind palace when a song on the radio spurs sexual thoughts. ("Trumpets" by Jason Derulo)


He is vaguely aware of Mary and John's presence in his flat. Sherlock had received a text an hour ago warning him of their impending visit, but he wrongly assumed that "Mary and I are picking up groceries to cook at your place tonight. She can be worrisome over your solitary ways… See you at 7, John" was just sent to scare him.

Having recently entered his mind palace five minutes before to work through a new case on his own, might he add, because John was busy, Sherlock tried to stay focused. But it was hard to ignore the sound of rustling grocery bags on the counter in his kitchen and the sound of John's feet sliding against the floor beside him.

Sherlock, decidedly, waves the distraction off and returns to one of the rooms in his mind palace. This one is designed to mimic the labs at St. Bart's. The counters are immaculately clean and everything he needs for the current case is spread out around him like he is in own private laboratory. Molly enters through the doors with the autopsy report that she had rehearsed earlier that day in the morgue. He is ready for Molly to begin her analysis of a deep wound found in the victim, Peter Rubin, that occurred post-mortem when the smell of Mary's cooking causes a minor blip in his focus. Mind palace Molly notices the smell too and smiles as she mouths the word "yummy." Sherlock sneers in retort at the distraction and returns to the case.

Sherlock is excited, nearly giddy, as Molly approaches the section of the report on the supposed, fatal, 2 mm in diameter holes that align with three of Mr. Rubin's essential arteries. She is turning the page to the photos of the wounds when he hears John rise from the chair across from him. The periodic grumble that John had been making for the past ten minutes is now loud enough for Sherlock to hear and his vociferous utterance is just annoying enough for Molly's report to pause mid-sentence.

Sherlock releases a pent up sigh and from behind him, he can almost see the rolling of John's eyes as he finally resigns to leave Sherlock in peace.

Sherlock has barely had two minutes of quiet this time when another body pads up the staircase to his flat with a radio in tow.

Mrs. Hudson's "yoo-who," goes just below Sherlock's radar, but the accustomed radio station she has it turned to for the news, alerts him of her presence. Sherlock puts his hand up to stop Molly once again from finishing the report as he waits for the news show that Mrs. Hudson is attached to the hip with, to filter through until his brain no longer registers the sound vibrations echoing in his ear.

"The killer is going to be someone skilled or at least knowledgeable of the human body and its systems to have accurately punctured the needed arteries to cause such a rapid loss of blood," Molly tells Sherlock as she stands in his mind palace lab on the other side of the counter from him.

Sherlock nods along, going over the possible suspects and dismissing most of them quickly. As Sherlock works away, he stays partially informed of the alive bodies occupying his flat and side notes that Mrs. Hudson has left her perch by the radio that sits between the kitchen and living room and has migrated over towards John on the couch. Sherlock spares himself a second to pity himself for the intrusive nature of his, friends, when a song that begins on the radio captures his attention.

"Every time that you get undressed, I hear symphonies in my head."

He resists interpreting the lyrics of the song for at least a verse before it slowly leaks in more –the catchy trumpet line breaking down his barriers.

His lab set up is slowly slipping away and for the first time in a long while, he is loosing complete control of his mind palace.

"Is it weird that I hear, violins whenever you're gone, whenever you're gone? Is it weird that your ass, reminds me on a Kanye West song, Kanye West song."

The song hits him hard now and all he is aware of in that moment is Molly. Molly, with her tight ponytail and pale face. Molly, with that sad fleeting smile that she gave him the night when he left for good after the fall. Molly, with her horribly unmatched jumper and blouse… that she is starting to take off?

"Every time that you get undressed, I hear symphonies in my head. I wrote this song, just looking at you ooh, oh. Yeah the drums they swing low and the trumpets they go."

It takes Sherlock a second to recall the lyrics that have just made their way to his ears, but by now all order has gone to shit. He takes another second to take in the setting change around him. The room is dark with not a single light turned on, but there is a glow from underneath the door adjacent to the bed. Sherlock connects the room's similarities to Molly's guest room he stayed in nearly three years before.

Suddenly time is moving fast like an evil trick. He isn't sure when all of their clothes had been shred, and is almost upset that he missed the rest of Molly stripping. A sudden jolt reminds him of the woman in front of him as he feels contact between their bodies. Their actions are seamless like a montage and as if from a scene cutting from one frame to the next, his mouth finds hers in the span of a second.

"Is it weird that I hear, angels every time that you moan, time that you moan? Is it weird that your eyes remind of a Coldplay song, Coldplay song?"

"Oh, Sherlock," he hears her moan into his mouth. He finds himself relishing in the feel of her cooled skin underneath his hands as the song that has been infiltrating his mind palace plays on like a powerful, possessing soundtrack.

The heat between them grows exponentially in the next cluster of moments and Sherlock reaches forward, looking for the bed that he knows for damn sure is located in the guest room.

Like the quick extinguishing of a single wick flame, the song in the background goes silent and the bedroom falls away taking Molly with it.

Sherlock opens his eyes and sees Mary hovering over Mrs. Hudson's radio. The two share a weird look before she manages to form an explanation for her action that she didn't think was necessary.

"Was just turning off the bloody American pop singer boy," she supplies before shrugging.

Sherlock nods along, a bit too enthusiastically, before Mary returns to her cooking.

Once again, away from prying eyes, Sherlock removes the pillow that had been resting in his lap and excuses himself to his room promptly.

The rest of the week, for Sherlock, plays out normally. Within a few days, he is able to step foot, back into his mind palace lab that he had been weary of before. The case details fall into place soon after and by mid-day, Sherlock and Molly find themselves at a sandwich shop whose manager owes Sherlock a few favours.

They two of them order a small meal, both on the house, before the manager of the shop walks away from their table giving Sherlock a sly smile. Molly begins to go over the finer details of the case, regaling in the twists of the suspect's motives and the climatic arrest at the end. Their meal comes shortly and Sherlock nods along as Molly continues between bites. He is mostly focused although, on the food he is eating, after not consuming much the past few days. Everything is fine till an initially quiet, but building sounds alerts Sherlock of that cursed song again.

He freezes with his hands hovering over his plate and drops the latter half of the sandwich. The teaspoon resting against his plate rattles at the vibration, but no one notices.

It takes Molly a few seconds, after she has finished prattling on, to realize that he is at a stand still. She lets out a nervous laugh before waving her hand languidly in front of him.

"Sherlock?" She asks hesitantly. "Earth to Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes?"

The initial lyrics of the cursed song are cascading through his mind like a sudden reflex, bringing back, everything, from the last time he heard it.

Molly reaches out and takes hold of one of his hand that is just resting on top of his plate. More flashbacks invade his mind upon contact with her and he is frozen in the moment, stunned by the memory. It takes Sherlock a bit of time to recover. Molly looks blankly at him as he stares off into space. His accelerated pulse and moistened palms have by now alerted Molly of his state and she hums in surprise.

Finally, he focuses again, retreating away from his mind palace, and makes eye contact with Molly. Immediately he feels foolishly embarrassed and tries to cover any indication of the flushness overcoming him.

"Is it-" Molly begins before Sherlock interrupts her.

"No it is not weird…" He trails off.

Molly looks taken back. "I was just going to ask: is it okay if I step away for a moment. I need to use the loo," Molly blushes at the statement and feels slightly childlike over the details. "You seem okay now really, I was just making sure."

Sherlock reaches quickly out and places his hand atop her forearm. "No," he says.

She looks confused at his outburst, but he waves her down and apologizes, as if resigning his problem and moving past it.

But as he watches her figure walk away, he can't help but say snidely to himself, "Brilliant! Now all I can think about is a damn Kanye West song."


End file.
